Beyond the Secret Door

[Series: The Great Escape to Great Britain] Vol. 3 (Beyond the Secret Door)

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A Feast of Primary Colors, and a Prophecy

The train we boarded was the Southern Railway, cutting through the British countryside. Outside the window, the scenery was an endless stream of vivid blue sky, green fields rippling in the wind, and bursts of yellow flower fields. A feast of primary colors, as if the train’s livery and the landscape had merged into one. Once our breathless run was over, a sense of relief and peace settled into the coach.

Then, the conductor came to check tickets. Seeing our disheveled state, he asked:

“Where are you all headed? In times like these?”
“Seaford! We’re going to see the cliffs. Seven Sisters!”

The tall conductor bent down to glance at the sky outside the window, then grinned.

“You lot are incredibly lucky.”

“Sorry?”

“Those Sisters... they have quite a temper, usually. For 300 days out of 365, it’s nothing but howling winds and rain. They only show their calm, pretty faces for about 10 days a year.”

He threw us a wink and added:

“And, today is one of those ten days. Enjoy it.”

The Pyramid of Eggs

Seaford Station was silent. A small seaside village where time seemed to have stopped. We began to walk the back path the staff at Brighton had told us about.

Before long, someone at the front of our group shouted.

“Huh? A mart! There’s a mart!”

Of course, a supermarket had been part of our original plan (we had even checked egg stocks), but we assumed that hope had evaporated when the bus was cancelled. We had been patting ourselves on the back just for making it this far, expecting nothing.

Just in case, we stepped inside—and nearly screamed right at the entrance.

“Eggs...!”

There, filling the shelves, was a pyramid of eggs—something we hadn’t seen even a shadow of in London.

After staring at empty shelves for so long, facing this abundance brought tears to our eyes. We began shopping as if possessed. Fried chicken legs, fresh salads, and freshly made food in paper boxes. Worried about the weight, we put the eggs back, saying, “Let’s buy them on the way back”, but even with just the food in our hands, we felt like we owned the world.

One Day out of 365

After walking for about an hour, we left the village behind and a wide coastal path opened up. We had no doubts, as the blue dot on Google Maps pointed unmistakably to our destination. We just couldn’t imagine how this ordinary path would lead to the majestic cliffs we knew.

Colorful wooden huts (beach huts), closed due to the lack of tourists, stretched endlessly, with seagulls dozing atop them, looking puzzled. Rare sunshine, a soft, cozy breeze, and the strange sense of liberation from having made it. We were high on excitement throughout the trek.

But when we reached the edge of Seaford Head, we finally realized just how meager our imagination had been.

The Perfect Angle

As we crested the final hill, the view exploded before our eyes. We all stopped dead in our tracks. We couldn’t even gasp.

“Wow......”

Across the water, a massive white screen shone blindingly. If we had followed our original plan, we would have been standing on the cliffs’ heads. We would have seen only the dirt beneath our feet, never witnessing this overwhelming Full Body of the Seven Sisters.

The side path we were forced to take because the road was blocked... Behind the secret door that path led to, a landscape of the most perfect angle designed by God unfolded. A depth and scale that photos could never capture.

The Vaccine for the Soul

We settled on the grass with the best view of the cliffs. Eating snacks from the supermarket, we stared blankly at the white giants. True to the conductor’s words, the weather was beautiful, and the wind was impossibly soft. We sat there for a long time, speechless, feeling the wind with our whole bodies.

They say the wind here is usually strong enough to knock you over, but that day, it was as cozy and soft as a spring breeze. It made it difficult to leave.

The expressions of the few local couples and families held a deep sense of ease. A world without masks, fear, or panic buying. It was like a final paradise before the apocalypse, a surreal peace.

A friend, staring blankly at the cliffs for a long time, tossed out a sentence.

“I’m good now.”
“Huh?”

“Even if we go back to London and get locked down again... I think I can endure it for quite a while now.”

We laughed and chatted there for ages. On the shoulders of those great Sisters, on that grass where no tourists stood, we even raced each other, betting on who would cook dinner and do the dishes. The frustration of quarantine, the anxiety about the future, in that moment, it all crashed and disappeared into the waves below the white cliffs.

Epilogue

On the train back, watching the sunset, I thought:

Our plan failed miserably.
The bus was cancelled, and the front gate was closed.
But thanks to that failure, we were able to open a more perfect door.
At the end of failure, we met a surprise gift God had prepared.

London will still be grey, and the world’s news will still be loud with the virus’s rampage. And I have no idea how much longer I’ll be trapped on this island of strangers.

But it doesn’t matter. That white landscape we captured with our eyes that day will become a vaccine for the soul more powerful than any medicine, protecting us from within.

(End of Vol. 3)

A World Traveler’s Small Stories & Insights Published every Monday and Friday.

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